


the price of your greed / is your son & your daughter (or, revenge, & a little bit more)

by mustardbastard



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: (in chapter 2 and its... mildish?), (its brief/mild imo), Alternate Universe - Fae, Attempted Sexual Assault, Law Enforcement, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, RoyEd Month 2020, Shapeshifting, Succubi & Incubi, Supernatural Law Enforcement, Tags May Change, They/Them Pronouns for Envy (Fullmetal Alchemist), Torture, alternate universe - lost girl (tv), bartender ed, like... vaguely, royed month
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23965117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustardbastard/pseuds/mustardbastard
Summary: Ed always knew he was different. Just not /fae/ different. A succubus without a side different.Discovering he's fae has explained and given Ed more than he could have ever hoped for. But family doesn't quite mean the same thing to fae as it does to Ed, and soon he's facing the decision to choose a side.Written for days 2, 16, and 25 of RoyEd Month. Prompts: Al dies, evil power couple, torture, faerie
Relationships: (past), Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Edward Elric/Alfons Heiderich, Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24
Collections: RoyEd month





	1. Part One: Start at the End

**Author's Note:**

> hooooooo kay. howdy folks, it's been awhile.  
> anyway, this should be around 3-4 chapters, maybe 5, im not sure yet. im in the middle of writing chapter 2 rn, and hooopefully, if things go as planned, i'll have it ready by the 16th, and ch3 done by the 25th/end of the month, but. no promises on timeline guys. I will try my best tho.  
> this is semi-loosely based on the tv show, lost girl. no knowledge of it is needed, most things get explained & i'll add context in the notes. (my mom & I binged all 5 seasons before it left Netflix last month. I thought I couldn't make a royed au out of it. I was a Fool)  
> uhh, important things to note:  
> this is told non-linearly, sort of. chapter titles/first line should tell u where in the timeline we are.  
> im working with the idea that succubi aren't always female and that incubi aren't always men, it's succubi are bottoms & incubi tops. (supposedly based on the latin roots of the words? idk) (mainly I was lazy and u can make more jokes out of succubus)  
> chapter's relevant characters' fae types will be added in end notes.
> 
> title is from blood // water by grandson &, revenge, and a little more by unlike pluto!  
> BIG thank u to screeching_moonstudent for letting me scream ideas at u abt this & reading it over!! ur the best 
> 
> I think that's abt it? hope u enjoy!

**Part One: Start at the End**

**One year before.**

“I need to hear you say it. All of it. Your renouncement of the Light, your pledge to join the Dark. Your oath of fealty, to me.”

“Fucking _fine._ I renounce the heritage of my birth, cast aside the Light that claimed me. I reject the Ash that I never served and who never served me, and pledge myself to the side of the Dark, to _you._ I dedicate my life and soul to the Morrigan, with thou as my witness, yadda yadda. There? That good enough for you?"

"Oh, plenty. Just―one more thing."

"What now?"

"A kiss, to seal the deal," he says, stepping down from the throne, towards where he kneels on cold marble. Hands as warm as fire lightly stroke his face, tilting his chin up, forcing him to stare into endless obsidian eyes. He can't help but lean into the touch, to chase the claws that caress him. "Just a warning," the Morrigan whispers, "this may hurt a touch." 

Cold lips touch his, gentler than he expected, and then everything he knows is on _fire._ His nerves scream in pain, and he screams with them, falling onto the floor and writhing as bone and sinew rewrite themselves, as DNA becomes undone and redone. It lasts an eternity; it lasts an instant. All he knows is pain. Pain so intense he can't even think to wish for death. 

But then it is over, and power thrums in his veins like he's never known before. He inhales, and opens his eyes―when did he close them? He stands―strong, proud, powerful, _Dark Fae,_ and meets the gaze of the Morrigan, who sits back in his throne, smirking. 

"Come, Ed. Sit by my side and rule with me," Roy says. 

**Now.**

The sirens aren’t far behind him, loud and wailing―and really fucking annoying if he’s being honest―but Ed isn’t concerned. He runs, not because he’s scared, but because what fun is the hunt if the prey doesn’t even try to escape? Only Ed’s not the prey, not this time. 

He laughs, high on the thrill of the chase and the anticipation of what’s yet to come.

Ed darts into an alleyway, leaning his back against the brick wall. Silent, listening, waiting. It’s not long before he hears the thunder of footfall and the voices of officers looking for him. He steps out of the shadows, removing the glove from his left hand. (His right hand, while still functional as a hand, is now defunct for what he’s about to do, what with it being wooden and all. Just _another_ thing he has to thank the Light for.) He looses just a fraction of control over his power, letting the allure fill the officers’ senses.

“Hello officers. Is it me you’ve been looking for?”

The officers start in surprise, one reaching for her gun while her partner is already under Ed’s spell, eyes clouded over with desire.

“Stop right there! You’re under arrest!”

Ed tsks in disappointment. “Such a shame, here I was hoping we could all have some fun.” He stalks towards them, slow, seductive, calculating. Were he a cat, his tail would be swishing in the air behind him. The female officer draws her gun, pointing it at Ed with shaky hands. 

“Don’t come any closer,” she protests, but Ed’s already there, gun pressed into his ribs. He places his bare hand on her grip, watches as the fight dies in her eyes. She goes slack before him, mindlessly following his touch as he caresses her face, thumb brushing over her bottom lip. The other officer whines quietly as he watches them with rapt attention. 

“Shh,” Ed murmurs. “You’ll get your turn soon enough.” He nudges the gun out of her fingers with his free hand, the firearm clattering to the ground, all but forgotten. The scent of their arousal is intoxicating. Ed inhales deeply; he’s so _hungry_ and these humans wouldn’t be his first pick on the menu, barely enough to whet his appetite, but beggars can’t be choosers. Not so close to the Light’s territory anyway. He leans his head down, brushing his lips against hers. She sinks into his embrace, long having forgotten her purpose there. Ed pulls his head back, the officer whimpering as he does so, but all he cares about is the chi flowing from between her lips into his. He cuts himself off before he drains her completely, and she collapses to the ground, out cold.

“Now,” he turns to the remaining officer, a smirk forming on his face. “Your turn big boy.”

x 

He and Roy are alone for the first time in what feels like _fucking forever._ Really, he knows it’s been maybe a week, max, but Ed’s a succubus and he has needs that humans just can’t quite fill. Fucking sue him. He’s got his legs wrapped around Roy’s waist, sitting on the Morrigan’s lap in the throne room, and Ed’s kissing him deeply, hot and heavy, and far too intimate for the room they’re in. But Ed doesn’t really care at the moment, he’s too distracted. If some perv wants to get off on watching them, then hey, that’s just more chi for him to feed on. 

Both of their shirts were lost long ago, tossed aside haphazardly without a care. Ed presses his chest closer to Roy’s, tangling his fingers in Roy’s hair, letting out a choked groan as Roy drags his claws down Ed’s back. Blood, warm and wet, trickles out of the wounds, which heal and disappear almost as fast as they appeared. Ed grabs Roy by the throat and _squeezes,_ making him gasp for air. The taste of Roy’s chi, of Roy himself, is addicting and Ed can never get enough. Maybe it’s a shifter thing, or a he’s the Morrigan thing, or maybe it’s just Ed is a sucker for this stupid fae thing, but whatever it is, Roy is delicious and _his,_ and Ed doesn’t plan on ever letting him go.

Ed fumbles his way through undoing Roy’s belt, one hand still pressed against Roy’s throat. He’s _almost_ there, they’re so _close_ to getting to what Ed really wants when the control of his body is stolen from him.

Against his will, and to his increasing frustration, Ed is forced to extract himself from Roy and abortedly twirl, like a fucking ballerina doll with dying batteries. Roy snarls, eyes flashing gold, and Ed lets out a string of curses.

“Envy, you goddamn piece of _shit—”_

A cackle fills the room, echoing on the marble, and Envy prances in, grin wide on their face.

“Now is that any way to greet someone who brought you and our most esteemed Morrigan a present, Eddy?” They wave their hand, and control of himself rushes back to Ed and he stumbles, shaking off the disorientation.

“We were in the middle of something, so if you wouldn’t mind hurrying up with the supposed gift giving, Envy?” Roy chimes in, smile genial but eyes screaming murder.

Envy sighs and rolls their eyes. “Yeah yeah, you two going at it like a pair of goddamn bunnies, I do have eyes. Though sometimes I wish I didn’t,” they mutter.

“That can always be arranged,” Ed grits out.

“You guys have absolutely no patience,” Envy complains. “Ugh, fine. See if I ever do anything nice for you again, succubitch.” They lift their hand in the air and make a few lazy gestures. The door to the throne room opens, and a fourth person enters, jerkily moving towards them.

“Ta _da~!”_ Envy exclaims as the other comes to a stop and is forced to kneel before them. “One Light Fae general, found trespassing on our territory. And she’s _all_ yours, shrimpy.”

Ed laughs in disbelief at the sight. “Envy, you annoying glorious bastard.”

“This is quite the gift,” Roy remarks, already in his Leader of the Dark Fae mode. “Well done. Now leave us, we’ll take care of the rest here.”

The mesmer winks at Ed. “Enjoy~,” they sing-song on their way out.

“Now what should we do with you?” Roy asks the captured general, not truly looking for an answer. “Should I leave her to you, Edward?”

“Hell yes,” Ed says, moving towards her. He bends down and grabs her by the chin, forcing her to look him in his eyes. “Hey Lan Fan. We have a _lot_ of catching up to do.”

x 

Lan Fan screams through gritted teeth as the whip hits her back. She hates that she gives them this, gives them the satisfaction of seeing her squirm in pain, but it's better she gives them her screams than her secrets. No matter _what,_ she must not and _will_ not give up any information on her clan. It is her duty to protect the Ash and if she has to die to do so, then so be it. 

But it pains some part of her, a part of her heart that she's never really managed to lock away, to see who her jailer is. It pains her to see what's become of someone who she used to call a friend. She knows that death and loss can twist a person, but she never realized how monstrous grief could make one. 

Those gold eyes, even when they were at their most guarded, used to be so warm and full of life. Even when they flashed blue with their succubus powers, Lan Fan never feared those eyes. But now all they are is hard and cold, like unforgiving stone. 

Perceived betrayal would do that to someone, she supposes.

The whip cracks again and she bites back her cry. A hand, feather light, trails down the side of her face. For a moment, she loses herself, leans into the touch. But the sound of him speaking brings her back to her senses. 

"C'mon, Lan Fan. You know what I want."

She jerks her head away from his touch and spits, glaring up at him. 

"I will _never_ give you that."

Ed sighs, changing the subject. "You know, I never did get to thank you for this," he says, tapping his wooden arm. "It does come in handy sometimes." He laughs. "Hah, geddit? _Hand-_ y?" At her lack of response he sighs again, crouching down in front of her. "Tough crowd, hmm? Whaddya say to matching? Yanno, matching BFF prosthetics? Though we don't have a wood nymph here, and there's no way I'm letting you run back to Mei… But you're tough, I'm sure you can adapt. You didn't seem to have any second thoughts when you cut my arm off."

"Do your worst, Elric. I won't give him up."

He stares at her in contemplative silence, tilting his head. Lan Fan trembles in her restraints, with rage and fear. She does not know which part is greater; neither is enough to make her break her blood oath. 

Ed rises suddenly, fluidly, from his lowered position, slapping his thighs as he stands. "Okay. Anything a dear friend asks for, right?" He grins easily, but Lan Fan will never trust that smile again. 

The rest of Lan Fan's consciousness is spent screaming, alternating between cries of pain and pleasure she did not ask for. When she finally blacks out, it is a mercy. Though she knows she will just have to go through this all over again tomorrow.

x

It's late when Ed finally returns. Though he's not surprised that he spent so much time breaking in his 'gift'. But what _is_ surprising is the manner in which Ed comes back. 

Roy is sitting in bed, reading by the light of the lamp next to him, when Ed slinks into their room, subdued. A far cry from the sadistic elation in which Roy expected him to return. It stirs concern in his chest. He sets his book aside and leans forward. 

"Ed, darling? Is everything alright?"

Ed nods, mute as he shuffles his way over and into their bed, shucking off his leather pants. He crawls into bed, wrapping his arms around Roy's waist and laying his head on his stomach. The concern in Roy rises; it's been quite some time since he's seen his lover like this and it never gets easier. 

"Ed?" he prompts softly, undoing his ponytail and gently running his fingers through the gold locks. 

Ed huffs through his nose and grumbles into Roy's skin. "S'nuthin', just…" He trails off, pausing for so long Roy doesn't think he's going to continue. "Just seeing her again reminded me of Al and that he's really gone. That no one seems to care but me." He laughs, a low, bitter, broken sound that pains Roy to hear. "Fuck. I'm so pathetic. It's been over a year already and I still think of him everyday."

"Hey," Roy interjects, grabbing Ed's face and making him look at Roy. "You are _not_ pathetic. You're the strongest person I've ever known, and I've lived for centuries. He was your brother and you loved him. It's only natural for you to miss Alphonse. And I swear to you," he says, adjusting his position and stroking Ed's cheek. "We will find those responsible for his death and watch every single one of them _burn."_

Ed makes a noncommittal noise in agreement and tightens his arms around Roy's waist briefly, before pushing himself up and swinging his leg over Roy's to sit on his lap. "Why don't we just start with picking up where we left off earlier?"

There's a wild, desperate look in Ed's eyes that tells Roy that this isn't the time to push, to trust Ed that what he asks for is what he needs. Ed's voice quivers slightly, but his hands are steady on Roy's skin. Roy covers them with his own, holding them to his chest as he leans in closer to Ed's face. 

"As you wish," he whispers against Ed's lips, sealing his vow with a kiss. 

x 

It is not an easy task to escape from the arms of Edward Elric.

His limbs end up all tangled in yours, arms tightly holding onto you. It’s like he’s an octopus or a python, but one that only clings while they sleep. Worse yet, he doesn’t wake easy either. So unless you’d like to die from old age trying, or get killed in the rare occurrence that you’re successful, you’re better off not making an attempt to wake him. 

But Roy has been dealing with this for well over a year now, and while he may not be an expert in the field, he is at least adept.

He slips out of Ed’s grasp with practised ease, silently padding his way out of the room, grabbing his silk robe as he goes.

Envy appears by his side not long after, trotting lazily. They cackle, quiet, but the depraved sound of a hyena’s laugh echoes throughout the hall anyway. Roy sighs and fixes the hyena with a stare, but Envy merely pulls back their gums in an imitation of a grin, baring their fangs. He growls, a low rumble in his chest. Envy laughs louder and scampers ahead, shifting into their original form. By the time the fur has faded and their bones are done creaking and rearranging, Roy has caught up, not bothering to wait for them.

“Your turn now with the new toy?” Envy prods, too useful to kill, yet too irritating to let live.

“There’s still some breaking in to do,” Roy says.

“Ooh, let me take a crack at her,” they plead. “We didn’t have nearly enough fun together earlier.”

Roy looks at Envy, sidelong, assessing. Weighing the benefits and the setbacks. Calculating the possibilities. “I suppose you could be useful. But you pull back the instant I say to, understood?”

They salute him mockingly. “Aye aye, Morrigan sir.”

“I want you to fetch Wrath first, though. The two of you can wait by the entrance until I arrive.”

Envy makes a quick ‘okay’ sign with their hand before shifting, this time to an annoying thing with wings. The raven flutters in the air for a moment and gives a loud croak, circling around Roy’s head then taking off.

Roy isn’t alone for long. He’s at the entrance to the dungeons within ten minutes; Envy and Wrath are already there. At his nod, Envy presses the stone that opens the entrance, wall moving back and aside. Then it’s down the stairs they go.

The staircase spirals down and down, stone walls trapping them in on either side. Eventually, but not soon enough—Roy did always hate how never ending the stairs seem in this godforsaken palace, an architectural quirk he has the previous Morrigan to thank—they reach the end, stepping into the cold dungeon. Hidden tens of feet underground, it’s dark, damp, and unexpectedly drafty. It’s not a place Roy enjoys spending too much time in, not after spending a few decades in one of these cells. But with the title of Morrigan comes a duty and that is Roy’s cross to bear.

His target lies in one of the furthest back cells—the very same one that he is so intimately familiar with, he notes with a bitter sense of irony.

Roy doesn’t bother to unlock the cell door at first, just stands in front of it, far enough back to be hidden, watching the prisoner through the bars—iron, cursed so that it will burn the flesh of those meant to be inside if they dare to touch them. Even from here, he can see that her wrists are rubbed raw from straining against the manacles. 

Envy leans close against the bars, practically hanging off of them and starts to taunt her—baits her, digging under her skin, in an attempt to get her to snap. Roy has to give her credit—she doesn’t flinch, not once, at Envy’s verbal assault. Merely ignores them, staring at the ground. It’s not until Roy steps out from the shadows that she looks up.

Her glare is fierce; there is still much fight in her left. But Roy sees the strain in her eyes, the shadows beneath them. She is tired. She won’t last much longer. However, Roy doesn’t want her broken just yet.

“I know what you want. There’s no use.”

“Oh?” Roy asks, raising an eyebrow. “Do you now? Pray tell, what is it that I want?”

“I won’t give you information on the Ash,” Lan Fan says. “You’ll never get me to betr—” Roy raises his hand and in an instant, Lan Fan’s voice is gone. Her mouth keeps moving, continues trying to form words, but no matter what, not even a whisper emerges. Her eyes widen in shock for a moment, hands going to her throat, before she dives forward at the bars. The moment her skin makes contact with the iron, it glows, sizzling. The smell of burnt flesh wafts through the air as she pulls back, mouth open in a silent scream. Roy makes another motion with his hand, and Lan Fan’s voice is returned to her. She collapses to the ground, a pained whimper escaping.

“Thank you, Wrath,” Roy says, addressing the pombero hiding off to the side. He sees him nod out of the corner of his eye. Roy steps even closer to the cell, crouching down and meeting Lan Fan’s gaze. He smiles, thin as a razor’s edge. “You only _think_ you know what I want. The Ash? Why would I care about some little faeling whose power is temporary?” He chuckles. “No, I don’t want the Ash at all. Van Hohenheim, on the other hand…” 

Lan Fan’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What could the Morrigan possibly want with a retired Light Fae Elder?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Roy says airily, “whatever reason one would want the Blood King for, I presume.”

“The Blood King…? The Hohenheims aren’t blood sages; those were wiped out during the Great War!” she protests.

“If you truly believe that, then you’re even more naïve than I’d thought you to be.”

“I—”

Roy cuts her off with a wave of his hand, standing up. “Wrath?”

The small fae steps forward, whistling quietly. The song is beautiful, if a bit high-pitched for Roy’s keen ears, but for Lan Fan? Not so much. She screams, clutching at her ears. It’s no use. There’s nowhere for her to go, no place to hide that would allow her to escape Wrath’s siren song.

Roy glances towards Envy, nodding slightly. Envy grins and moves their hands—and Lan Fan’s hands jerk away from where they were clawing at the sides of her head. She moves, standing, and being forced to contort into strange, unnatural positions. Positions that only the most flexible of acrobats could achieve. It looks, and undoubtedly is, painful—all at the behest of Envy’s puppeteer hands.

This continues on for some time. Roy merely watches as the prisoner is manipulated like a marionette, tied to invisible strings. As the songs sung for her alternate between excruciating pain and robbing her of all her senses. Roy watches, as the fire dies in her eyes, grows dimmer and dimmer, until only an ember is left.

“That’s enough.”

Wrath silences immediately, stepping back, but Envy doesn’t cease, continuing to play with Lan Fan like a child refusing to acknowledge that recess is over.

“Envy,” Roy says, voice growing colder. A growl starts rising in his throat, a warning.

They sigh, letting their hands fall, and Lan Fan drops to the ground, once more in control of her actions. “Alright alright, sheesh.”

“Now, where were we?” Roy asks. “Ah, yes—Van Hohenheim.”

Lan Fan lifts her head up from the ground and looks at him, and Roy smirks. He’s won, even if she doesn’t realize it yet. She’s right where Roy wants her.


	2. Part Two: Jump to the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helo helo!  
> so, uh, good news & bad news, depending on ur opinion ig lmao  
> good news: here's part 2! bad news: ........but only about half of part 2. I realized after I finished this bit that it was getting a lil long & that what I still needed to cover in part 2 would probably fit better as a separate chapter. so next chap will be part2-2! but uhhhh, not sure when i'll get that out tbh. I have a vague idea of what needs to happen in it but nothing actually written yet & hjgfkjgfkjfdkjs I also have other wips for royed month that ive been neglecting so i'm gonna try to work on those (&finish watching dororo too...........)  
> this will get finished eventually, even if it kills me lmao, just may take a hot min.
> 
> ALSO.  
> WARNING FOR THIS CHAP:  
> there is a /very brief & mild/ description of a character getting drugged/having their drink spiked & then getting pulled away/attempted kidnapping/ sexual assault by the person who drugged them. it's literally like, A sees C spike B's drink but is too slow to stop B drinking it. A follows C dragging B to his car and punches C before C can assault B.  
> but if u wanna skip that section to avoid the potential of any triggers, skip once you get to "Wordlessly, Ed slides Al a glass of water and another toasted almond."  
> you should be in the clear once you get to ""Hey fuckface!" Ed shouts. "Why don't you try to go home with someone who's willing? Or is everyone too smart to wanna sleep with your MJ-wannabe ass?"" (about 3 short paras.)
> 
> this chapter is unbetaed/not pre-read & I kinda hate parts of it but EH whatever fuck it, have some garbage.

####  **Part Two: Jump to the Beginning**

**Three years before.**

The thing about running is, even if you have killer stamina and bounds of energy, after a while, you get tired. And when you get tired, you get sloppy. That's okay if you're running a race or some type of marathon―something with an end goal that you can still reach. But if you're just running, running some place far and trying not to be found, with a trail of bodies following you like the stench of days old unwashed laundry, like hounds chasing the moon at night, you can't afford to be sloppy. 

But Ed's been running for so long and he is sick and tired of it.

It started with a boy in high school, and the curse of his touch has been leaving bodies in his wake in every town he’s ever been in since. 

(Ed can’t touch anyone, can’t let himself get close to others. Everyone he’s loved—every person that he’s kissed, has died. Completely drained of energy, a smile on their face. And every time it happens, despite the battery boost, leaves him feeling more sick than the last. Yet there’s something in Ed, some core part of him, buried deep down, that begs to love and be loved, to feel the touch of another upon his skin.)

Working in a bar? Not the best place to try and find love, despite how many people seemingly think the opposite. But it is a place where no one cares who you are or where you've been―a place where others complain about their lives to you, not ask about yours. So it's kind of the ideal place for Ed, really. Though he could do without the pervs who don't know how to take 'no' for an answer. But if push comes to shove, Ed can take care of himself. 

Mixing drinks is almost enough like mixing chemicals for him that he doesn't get bored. _Almost._ And as long as he makes people's drinks fast and right, and wears enough leather, then after tips the pay ain't too bad either. 

There's something in the air tonight, though. Something that leaves a bad taste in his mouth and with the feeling that he should leave work early, pack his bags, and move the hell on.

And Ed's instinct usually isn't wrong. But he can't figure out what the fuck is different about tonight. Everything is the same ol' same ol', a night like any other. 

That is, until someone walks in the door wearing a face like the very first ghost from Ed's past. 

The glass in Ed’s hand that he had been cleaning drops to the floor and shatters, shards scattering all over the ground. Ed curses under his breath and grabs the broom, cleaning up the mess. Ghosts aren’t real, he’s not here, he’s as dead as he was the day you killed him, Ed chants like a mantra in his head. He glances sideways towards where the patron sits at the other end of the bar. Upon closer look, he doesn’t look exactly like the face that’s been haunting Ed’s dreams for years. His hair is too dark a blond, closer to gold, like Ed’s own, and his jaw is a little wider, face fuller. But it’s still eerie how similar they are. Ed can’t help but be drawn to him, in some sick morbid fashion. Or maybe it’s just doubt, paranoia eating at him, the need to make sure he’s not _really_ someone back from the dead.

His coworker elbows him, hissing at Ed that if he’s “going to stare so much, at least go and ask what he wants to drink.” She steals the broom out of his hands and shoves him in his direction. Ed stumbles, and looks back at her, incredulous. 

_“What the fuck?”_ he mouths at her. She only winks in response.

Fine. It’s fine. Ed can ask what he wants to drink; he does it basically every day with multiple people. He can do this. He takes a deep breath, exhaling and flipping his braid over his shoulder.

Ed taps the counter when he reaches where he sits, to gain his attention. “Anything I can get for ya?”

The blond turns to look at him, and Ed inhales sharply when he does. _His eyes._ He knows now, for certain, that this isn’t a case of recently-returned-from-the-dead, but the _eyes._ They’re eyes that Ed sees in the mirror every time he looks in one. A little greener maybe, more hazel than pure gold, and a lack of shadows under them, but nonetheless. They widen as they meet Ed’s own, shock filling them. But just as quickly as it appeared, the look passes.

“A toasted almond, please,” he requests.

And yeah, okay, sure. It’s a general, unspoken rule to not make fun of or judge what the customers order. But Ed can’t help it; his nose wrinkles up involuntarily.

“What,” the customer dryly asks, raising an eyebrow, “too girly of a drink?”

Ed laughs. “Hell no. Drink as many fruity frou-frou drinks as you want. But one that uses milk? Seriously?” He shudders.

“What’s wrong with milk?”

“It’s fucking gross cow juice, dude!” Ed says as he mixes his order. 

“Oh please,” he says, amused. “By that logic, coffee is just bean juice. Tea is leaf water. Beer is just barley and yeast juice.”

“Yeah but none of those things are _alive,_ ” Ed protests, sliding the drink across the counter. “They don’t secretly hide the desire to break your bones as they trample you into the mud.”

The customer adopts a wide-eyed look of innocence. “So you’re saying that you don’t think plants are alive? That they don’t have feelings too? That they can’t plan a way to ensure your demise while making sure no one ever finds the body?”

Ed sputters, trying and failing to come up with an argument. The other laughs, and takes a sip of his drink. “Well, despite your strange fear of cows, you know how to mix this well. Thank you…?”

“Ed,” Ed fills in. “And it’s not strange! Seriously, I’m tellin’ ya, cows are planning world domination, and humans will be the first to go.”

“Thank you, Ed. I’m Al. And when the coming cowpocalypse begins, I’ll tell the news that you were right all along.”

The stone in Ed’s stomach sinks further upon hearing his name. “Al. Right. Well uh, let me know if you want another one or whatever. But I’ve gotta…”

“Oh! Sorry, yes, please don’t let me hold you up.” Al takes another sip, shooing Ed away.

Ed moves on, taking the orders of other customers and letting the repetition of mixing drinks numb his mind until he can't think. 'Al' could be short for many names, or maybe it's not a nickname―he could just be named Al. There's no reason for him to assume it's short for _that._ Eventually, Al fades from the forefront of his mind―still lingering quietly in the back, but gone enough to let him concentrate on bartending. 

It's a few hours before Ed sees Al again―he had slipped off sometime after finishing a second drink to the dancefloor. He's back now, sitting in front of the bar and talking to the guy sitting next to him. Even without talking to him, Ed can clock that he's a real creeper―like some fucked up hybrid of Michael Jackson and a cockroach wearing a white suit. 

Wordlessly, Ed slides Al a glass of water and another toasted almond. Creeper orders a vodka martini, _"shaken, not stirred",_ because he's a pretentious asshole who thinks ordering stupid Bond drinks makes him look cool. After giving Creeper his drink, Ed helps a few others, but tries to keep an eye on them. Though maintaining that watch and making sure he's mixing the right things proves to be difficult when a rush of sorority girls come in and order a bunch of complicated fruity things. Which is why he sees, but is too late to stop, Creeper slip something into Al's drink and Al lift that glass to his lips mere moments later. 

Ed curses and ducks out from behind the counter, leaving the rest to his coworker. He follows as Creeper and Al head outside, Al getting more unbalanced with every step.

There's a crowd of people outside, drunk, loud, and in Ed's way. He gets stuck, trying to navigate through them, so by the time Ed catches up to Creeper and Al, they're already at Creeper's car, parked far towards the back, in the shadows. Al's completely out of it, mumbling weak protests as Creeper tries to get him in the passenger seat. 

"Hey fuckface!" Ed shouts. "Why don't you try to go home with someone who's willing? Or is everyone too smart to wanna sleep with your MJ-wannabe ass?"

Creeper turns and swings a punch at Ed, but Ed's faster, ducking out of the way and returning with a hit of his own. He tries a few more times to get in a hit on Ed, but the only one that lands is one to Ed's face, when Ed was too slow to block. Ed shakes off the pain and shoves him up against the side of the car, arm digging into his neck. 

"Maybe next time, don't spike someone's fucking drink," Ed says, leaning in close. And maybe it's the heat of the moment, or the stress from tonight, or an adrenaline crash, but Ed's suddenly dizzy, like he's intoxicated. Whatever it is, he can't explain why he leans even closer to Creeper, so close their lips could touch. He's following an instinct, something inside telling him what to do, how to end this _hunger._ The next thing Ed knows is that Creeper is dead without a cause, blissed out smile on his face. He stumbles back, the body dropping to the ground with a damning thud. 

"I―…" Ed starts. 

"You…" he hears and Ed whips his head around to find Al, sitting with his legs hanging out of the side of the car, staring at him. 

_"I,"_ Ed hisses, "was never here tonight. Got it?" He doesn't wait for an answer, moving back from the car and turning and running. His boss will kill him for dipping out early on a shift without an excuse, but it's okay because Ed's pretty damn sure he's not coming back here anyway. 

x 

Panic starts to set in the moment he's in his apartment, Ed leaning back against the front door and sliding to the ground, because _oh god, it happened again, how―why does this happen, I'm a fucking monster, jesus christ what the fuck Ed another person's dead because of you can't you learn to control this shit, now we have to move AGAIN, fucking FREAK, MURDERER―_

No.

Ed slaps himself; now is not the time for this. He’ll have time to panic and wallow in his guilt later. But right now, he needs to get moving, fast. 

He forces himself to stand and runs into his room, grabbing the empty duffel bag he keeps under his bed for these types of situations. He tosses everything he can think of that he’ll need in there: clothes, toiletries, a few cans of energy drinks, knives, a few guns. Ed pries open the loose floorboard hidden under the rug in his bathroom—it’s where he keeps the plastic baggie with his emergency cash and another one that holds a stack of IDs and driver’s licenses, things that will allow him to create a new identity at any time.

There’s a photo, kept folded up in the drawer of his nightstand by his bed. It’s him, standing next to a boy with pale blond hair and bright blue eyes, their arms thrown around each other and grinning widely. Ed looks happier in the photo than he’s felt in a long time. He stares at it for a moment, eyes lingering on the other boy in the photo, before shoving it in the bag with the rest of his shit. Ed’s wasted enough time already—he needs to go.

He doesn’t trust that the police aren’t already on their way here, that they aren’t walking up the stairs to his apartment right now. Luckily for Ed, he lives on the third floor of the building. It’s nothing too difficult for him to open his window and crawl out of it, using the fire escape to get to the ground.

With his feet flat on the dirt once more, he jogs to his car, keeping an eye out for anything that seems out of place. No one stops him as he hops into his car, a beat-up nondescript old thing that Ed’s grateful still runs, and soon enough, he’s pulling out of the parking lot, leaving this town and this life behind him.

x 

“And you’re absolutely sure of this, Alphonse?”

“Yes! I’m telling you, he was a succubus. I saw his eyes glow blue as he drained that man.”

“I wouldn’t doubt Al too much,” Havoc says, crouched down besides Riza. “What other type of fae do you know that can cause this?” He gestures towards the body on the ground, who has no obvious cause of death or anything strange about him—except for the satisfied smile and the dark grey, almost black, lines crawling across his face, spreading out from the mouth, like veins.

Riza purses her lips, sighing. “Yes well, an unknown fae, most likely Dark, killing humans is going to complicate things. The Ash and the Morrigan will likely have to get involved.”

Havoc groans in response. "You mean ice queen and secretly-a-murderer grandpa?"

Riza shoots him a look and Al laughs. "Don't worry, I won't let anything get back to my father or the Ash."

"Well, I suppose there isn't any helping it at this point. Havoc, cover me," she says, bending down and leaning in close to the vic. She sniffs a few times, searching for a scent that seems out of place―and _there._ Unknown fae. She inhales deeply and once she's sure she has the scent down, stands. "Got it. He's likely on the move already, but we'll follow the trail until it goes cold."

"Stay safe, kid," Havoc says, ruffling Al’s hair. "We'll let you know if we find him."

"Thank you," Al replies. “And if you do,” he grabs Riza’s hand, “please try to avoid hurting him. I don’t think he was planning on killing the human. He was only trying to protect me.”

Riza squeezes Al’s hand. “No promises, but we’ll try our best.” She lets go and steps back. “Havoc—you take paper and witness trail, I’ll take scent?”

“Sure thing, Hawkeye.”

She nods and glances around, making sure no one in the area other than Havoc and Alphonse can see. Within moments, she’s shifted, and a tawny colored wolf stands in her place. She shakes off the disorientation, fur rippling along her sides.

Riza yips quietly, and then she’s off, following where the scent leads her.

x 

They catch up with him just outside of the city.

Ed’s not sure exactly how—he hasn’t paid for gas yet— _hell,_ his tank ain’t even full yet—and he was planning on paying with cash. But frankly, the how doesn’t really fucking matter right now. He’s gotta find some way out of this.

Ed glances over at them, and it doesn’t look like the cops have noticed him just yet. He slides down in his seat, quickly undoing his braid and throwing it up in a ponytail, making it easier to hide his hair under the baseball cap he keeps in his backseat. He adjusts his rearview mirror, angling it so that he can see their car and keep an eye on them. He almost has a heart attack when he does; it feels like one of the officers is staring directly at him through the reflection. Chestnut-colored eyes, cold and observant. Ed swears to himself.

Careful not to draw attention to himself, he slips back out of his car and finishes with the gas. When he pulls out, he forces himself to not peel out of there like he wants to, but to drive at a normal pace. It doesn’t matter. The cops follow him anyway. Gradually, he increases speed, until he’s zipping by and weaving around the few other cars on the road. His tail matches him, driving just as fast. Their sirens aren’t on, though, which makes Ed suspect that they don’t want a public confrontation.

Good. He doesn’t either.

At the first opportunity, he makes a sharp turn, off of the main road and onto a narrow dirt path that leads into the surrounding forest. But before he can get too far, he’s cut off by something darting in front of his car, causing him to slam on the brakes, swerving. He crashes head on into a tree, and Ed jerks with the force of the collision, hitting his head on the steering wheel.

He blacks out for what probably isn’t more than a few minutes, but Ed can’t be sure. He groans; his head is killing him, he’s dizzy, everything looks fuzzy, and he doesn’t even want to _think_ about the condition his car is in. Fuck, he probably has a concussion. Ed wrenches the door open and staggers out, stomach lurching. The sight of his car makes him feel even worse—front window shattered, steam rising up from under the hood, which is just completely _smashed._ It’s probably totaled. Ed curses his luck.

He curses more, when he sees the black and white car parked a few feet away, its driver walking towards him.

“Everything alright over here?”

“Oh just _absolutely_ daisies and rainbows,” Ed says. Really, what type of a dumbass question is that? _Obviously_ things aren’t alright! Wait a second… Ed squints towards the officer, trying to focus. There were two of them earlier. But now there’s just this guy—the car is empty. “Where’s your…?”

“Where’s his partner? I’m right here.” The voice comes from behind him, close. Ed turns around—or tries to, at least. Another wave of dizziness hits and he stumbles, struggling to stay upright. He catches half a glimpse of blonde hair and something swinging towards him before everything goes black.

x

When Ed comes to, he’s tied to a chair. And most definitely _not_ in any sort of police station that he’s seen before. But the whole tied to a chair thing seems a little more pressing at the moment. He tries to take in his surroundings while fiddling around with his restraints, but his head aches like a motherfucker, and whoever restrained him was smart enough to use a— _really freaking_ —complicated knot, instead of just handcuffing him. If he was handcuffed, he could attempt to dislocate his thumbs and slip out of them, but nope. Just his luck— _again._

The sound of a lighter flicking makes him look back up. Across from him stands one of the cops from earlier, the guy who asked if he was okay. He’s tall, lean, but with enough muscle that he could probably take Ed in a fight, with short sandy blond hair. And he’s smoking—not metaphorically, although Ed can’t deny that he _is_ easy on the eyes, but literally. Has a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth while he’s shoving the lighter into his pocket. He takes a drag before speaking.

“So.”

“‘So’,” Ed repeats dryly. “You wanna explain why I’m tied up here like we’re in some bad thriller movie or nah?”

That makes him laugh. “Only if you wanna explain what happened last night.”

“Or perhaps your clan and what you’re doing here,” a third voice chimes in. It’s the second cop, the one who was staring at him at the gas station, the one who knocked him out.

“You!” Ed yells, “Why the hell did you knock me out? Isn’t that abuse of power?” He pauses. “Wait. What do you mean by clan?”

She stares at him, passive, face giving nothing away. “You certainly weren’t going to come without a struggle. I only sped things up.”

The first cop is the one who answers his second question. “C’mon kid, just be honest.” At Ed’s blank stare, he tries to elaborate further. “Yanno, your side? Dark or Light?”

What the hell are they talking about? “What are we, in a bad knock-off of Star Wars?”

There must be something in his face that makes them believe he’s not playing. “Do you really not know?”

“Know _what?”_ Ed asks, exasperated. “Obviously not.” The two cops exchange a look, indecipherable. Irritation bubbles under his skin, suppressing the apprehension. “Seriously, what the fuck are y’all talking about?”

The door to Ed’s left slams open. “They’re talking about your allegiance, child.” The person who walks in is yet another blonde, this one with long, waist-length pale hair. Her eyes are as cold as ice, and though she’s probably about Ed’s height, something about her makes him want to cower. The officers immediately take on an air of deference, murmuring something that Ed can’t make out. “You killed a human on Light territory; that’s punishable by death, no matter your clan.” She addresses the cops, “why are you even wasting time questioning him?” and scoffs, “whatever. It’s no matter now.”

Ed swears a vein is about to burst in his forehead. If they don’t start explaining shit real soon, he’s going to lose it. “Allegiance. To. _Who?”_ Ed asks through gritted teeth. Hold on a second— “‘Human’? You say that as if you’re not.”

The ice queen looks at him, and then back at the other two. “You’re absolutely sure?”

The female cop nods. “Yes, I checked the scent myself. And Alphonse was the witness.”

“Hmm… Tell me, boy, do you know who your parents are?”

“What—why does that matter?”

“Just answer the damn question.”

“I was adopted, alright? So no, I don’t know who my birth parents are.”

“Interesting… Surely you two have noticed the resemblance by now?” Ice Queen asks the cops.

“Now that you mention it…” Smoker trails off. “Hohenheim?”

She snorts, derisive. “Who else?”

“Can someone, _please,_ for the love of all that’s holy, explain what the absolute fuck is going on?” Ed yells. He can’t follow anything these idiots are saying, and really, if they’re planning on killing him, he’d like to know sooner rather than later.

“What do you know about fae?”

“Huh? Like, Tinker Bell?”

“You truly are ignorant… Hawkeye.”

Hawkeye must be the female cop’s name, because she steps forward at the command. And Ed’s gotta be tripping balls or some shit, because one minute there’s a person and the next there’s a goddamn _wolf._ Maybe he’s crazy, or dreaming, but he _swears_ that the wolf is the woman. The fur color is the same as her hair, the eye colors match, and the way it’s staring at Ed… But there’s no fucking way. People don’t just turn into wolves; that only happens in fiction and teenage girls’ dreams.

Right?

“Wh… what…” Ed starts and stops.

“Fae, boy,” Ice Queen says. “Beings from legends, myths. Powers that humans can only dream of. And you’re one of them.”

Ed’s head is spinning. “You—”

“Your father is Light Fae, which means you are too.”

“Not necessarily,” a fourth person says. Ed can only assume that this person is fae too, but he’s a far cry from what he’d expect a faerie to look like. Not that he really has any basis for the appearance of fae, aside from children’s tales and the people standing in front of him. And none of them are what he’s expected. So maybe Ed should just shut up. The newcomer is an older man, vaguely grandfather looking, but tall and somewhat imposing, by way of the eyepatch. He’s not domineering in appearance like the ice queen, but there’s an edge to him that tells Ed he’s not to be messed with. “If the faeling never chose when he came of age, then he still has a choice now. And you really expect him to join the Light with the way you’re treating him?” He chuckles, but Ed doesn’t think he’s actually amused. 

He turns to Ed and smiles. “Hello there. I’m the Morrigan, leader of the Dark Fae. The three who have you so fiendishly tied up are Light Fae; the one who’s trying to bludgeon you into joining them is their leader. But don’t listen to what they say, you’re free to join the Dark. We’ll only tie you up if you ask us to.” He winks, and Ed gags on the inside.

The tawny wolf—Hawkeye, Ed reminds himself, as much as he’s having trouble reconciling it—growls by Ice Queen’s side, who scoffs. “Yes, because a senile old man making bondage jokes is a convincing argument to join the Dark. Ignore him. You’ll join the Light if you know what’s good for you.”

“Is there anyway I can, you know… _Not_ choose? _Neither_ of you are giving me any reason to join you,” Ed says.

“You don’t wish to join your father?” Ice Queen asks. “No matter. You _must_ choose.”

“I’m afraid she’s right my boy, that’s the way things are done. Every fae must make the choice,” the Morrigan says.

“Gee, you mean the father that abandoned me and left me to be raised by people who apparently aren’t even the same species as me?” Ed drawls, sarcasm oozing from every inch of him. “No, I’m not really inclined to. As for your shitty tradition, sorry but I think I’m gonna have to pass.”

The Morrigan laughs, making a comment about the _‘spunk of today’s youth’,_ while the Light Fae leader levels him with a glare. A part of Ed is terrified—of this domineering woman who could kick his ass without breaking a sweat and feel no remorse other than for the mess, of what’s going to happen to him, but the rest of him is just _tired._ He wants to get untied, find a hotel for the night, and _sleep_ so he doesn’t have to think of anything fae for the next eon. (Except the curious part of him, the part that loves the sciences and exploring the unknown, the part that wanted to go to college for chemistry and get a phD until those plans were interrupted when he killed a boy, wants to know _more._ Wants to understand what the fae _are,_ their DNA, how everything works. What he is. Who he is.)

“Are you sure that’s the decision you truly wish to make, boy?”

“Jesus Christ, do I have to spell it out in flashing neon lights for you? _Yes,_ I’m sure. I won’t choose a side or clan or whatever you call it.”

She makes a noise of exasperation. “Fine, have it your way. I don’t have any more time to waste on this. Hawkeye, Havoc, finish up here. Make things disappear.” She storms out just as dramatically as she had entered.

“If you ever change your mind, or just want to see what life is like with the Dark, don’t hesitate to ask,” the Morrigan says, parting with a wave.

“Doubtful,” Ed mutters, before looking at the only two left. “So does this mean I get to be untied?”

Smoker—Havoc moves behind the chair, crouching down and working at the knots. “Yeup, sorry about that, by the way. Couldn’t be too careful. That’s a bold move you made there, though, denying the Ash like that.”

“It was a foolish move, is what it was,” Hawkeye says, now human, in appearance at least, again. “You don’t just defy the leaders of both clans and get away with it unscathed.”

The Ash must be Ice Queen, Ed notes. “What’s the big deal anyway? Just seems like a giant pissing contest.”

“Being a part of a clan is—not quite like a family, but sort of a membership type thing. You pay in and get rewards. You swear allegiance to the leader and act upon their requests when asked, you get protection,” Havco says from behind him, finished with undoing the knots. Ed pulls his wrists free, rubbing at the sore skin and muttering his thanks.

“But if you don’t have a leader, you don’t have protection,” Hawkeye finishes. “Meaning you’re free game for anyone who wants to kill you.”

“Well I don’t plan on being in the area long, unless you guys are gonna try to arrest me again?”

Havoc shakes his head. “Nah, we’ll take care of things. You’re free to go. But you should stay awhile. Learn about what it means to be fae, maybe how to control your powers.”

“Your ‘Ash’ won’t kill me for lingering on her territory?”

“You’re not with the Dark, so as long as you keep your head down, she’ll ignore you,” Hawkeye says.

“If you’re that concerned about it, there’s a bar close to here that acts as neutral ground for fae. The owner’s granddaughter is a doctor for our side—she can probably help you figure things out.”

Ed pauses. He _was_ ready to walk on out of here and move on with his life, throwing this one away and starting over somewhere new, but if he doesn’t have to and he can get answers while he’s at it… He sighs. “Fuck it, I’m in. So where’s this bar?”

x

The _Rockbells’_ is less of a bar and more of a pub, if Ed’s being honest.

It’s small, quaint. The actual bar lines one side of the room, while the rest is filled with an assortment of tables and booths. There’s a few pool tables too, Ed notes. A dog sleeps on a cushion on the ground in front of the giant window. It lifts its head up when the trio walks in, but goes back to sleep just as quickly, deeming them not worth the bother. Seeing as it’s still early in the afternoon, it’s empty, aside from Ed and the two who brought him here. But the air is welcoming anyway.

“Hey, Pinako! Is the doc here?” Havoc yells, when they walk in the door.

“Obviously not, you bozo,” a voice shouts back. The door next to the bar counter slams open, and a tiny old woman walks out. “And what have I told you about smoking in my bar?” Lines crease her face, making it look even more pinched, and her grey hair is pulled back into a stern bun. Small round glasses perch upon her hooked nose.

Havoc laughs, scratching the back of his head, sheepish. “Sorry sorry.” He puts out his cigarette on the ashtray Pinako holds out, the second one Ed’s seen him light today.

She jerks her head towards Ed, crossing her arms. “Who’s this?”

Hawkeye answers for him. “‘This’ is why we need to talk to the doctor. Do you know if she’ll be back soon?”

Pinako continues to stare at him, unimpressed. “She should be back within the hour. This better not be an attempt to set her up. She’s still dating that mechanic of hers.”

“It’s nothing of the sort, don’t worry Pinako,” Hawkeye says. “We just want her to run some tests, see if she can’t figure out a way to help Ed control his powers.”

“Hmm. You gonna be a problem for my bar or granddaughter, boy?” she asks, addressing Ed directly. _Seriously,_ what is it with people calling him ‘boy’ and ‘kid’ today? He’s _twenty-three,_ for fuck’s sake. But Ed doesn’t think this woman would be impressed with his complaint.

“No ma’am,” Ed says, gulping. Pinako may be tiny, but there’s a look in her eyes that says she knows seven different ways to hide a body and that the cops will never find out. Sweat starts to break out on the back of his neck the longer she stares at him, unblinking and silent. Somehow, this is worse than the interrogation he went through only a couple of hours ago.

“Alright,” she finally says, “you can stay here until she gets back. She’ll probably want to drag you off to that lab of hers, and lord knows you’ll need a drink or two to be ready for that.”

Ed sighs in relief, shoulders slumping. “Thanks.”

Havoc pipes up, “any chance we could get some drinks too?”, causing Hawkeye to sigh, rolling her eyes.

“Drinking on the job, are we?” Pinako asks. “I don’t think your boss would be too happy about that. But sure, as long as you’re paying.”

Havoc cheers, pulling out a stool and sitting down at the bar, while Pinako moves behind the counter, mixing him his drink. An old fashioned, from the looks of it.

The exasperation at her partner’s actions is evident in Hawkeye’s voice as she says, “come on, Ed. We might as well sit too. We’ll be here for awhile.”

Ed settles in next to Havoc, while Hawkeye sits to Ed’s right. Pinako wordlessly slides Hawkeye a glass of water, and Hawkeye murmurs her thanks.

“So. What’s your poison?”

And this is it, this is the real test. This is how Pinako will give Ed his final judgement—not by what type of fae he is, or what side he belongs to, but by his drink order. Ed’s never really put much stock into the belief that a person’s drink order will tell you everything that you need to know about them, because it’s just _drinks._ People’s taste buds and preferences can change with the wind. But Ed doesn’t think Pinako’s the same as him.

“You got any Gosling’s?”

Pinako snorts. “Course we do, what type of a bar do you think I run? Dark ‘n Stormy, then, I take it?”

Ed nods.

She makes a thoughtful noise, a small _hmm._ “Simple, but bold in its own way. And not overdone to death yet. You know your shit, kid.”

He takes a long drink before answering, when she slides him the glass. God knows he needs it. “Worked at a bar before I got dragged into this.” And Ed doesn’t really know how to ask this, doesn’t know if it’s considered rude or invasive, but he’s curious. “So… what type of…” he trails off awkwardly.

“What type of fae am I?” Pinako asks. She laughs. “I’m only human; so’s my granddaughter.”

Oh. Ed blinks in surprise. “Then how…?”

“How do I know about fae, if I’m not one?”

“Generally, humans aren’t supposed to know about us,” Hawkeye says. “But there are exceptions. If a fae claims a human, they’re allowed to, and are granted protection. Pinako’s family has been under the Light’s protection for generations.”

“Yup!” says Havoc, “and what a blessing it’s been, having you guys around.”

“You would say that,” Pinako says, huffing in amusement, “seeing as you’re my second-best customer. Flattery still won’t get you free drinks.”

Havoc groans and lays his head down on the counter dramatically. “You wound me, Pinako.”

“Huh,” Ed says. Interesting. (He wonders who her best customer is then, if Havoc’s only second.)

The four of them spend the rest of their time waiting for Pinako’s granddaughter talking and drinking, conversation flowing easier than Ed expected. He finds he enjoys it. Pinako’s full of sharp wit and dry humour, with a candidness that reminds Ed of his adoptive mother. And Hawkeye and Havoc are pretty cool too, you know, when they aren’t trying to arrest Ed. Havoc’s a hopeless flirt, loud and joking. He seems kind of airheaded at first, but Ed sees the layer of intelligence under that. Hawkeye, meanwhile, is the calm and quiet balance to Havoc, serious, but not uptight. Her sense of humour, when Ed can tell she’s joking, is absolutely _wicked._ Poor Havoc bears the brunt of it. 

They’re patient with all of Ed’s questions, with his insatiable curiosity as their answers only make him want to know more, more, _more._ Pinako even digs out from the back some old books on fae history for him. When she finds out his response to the Ash and the Morrigan, she barks out a laugh, telling him “good for you. Don’t put up with any of their political bs.”

Ed still doesn’t fully trust them yet, isn’t sure of his place in this world. Isn’t sure that when he wakes up tomorrow, he won’t be in his car still on the run. Because surely an explanation for what’s plagued Ed almost all his life, the piece of him that’s missing that he’s always fighting the urge to chase, doesn’t come as easily as this. That’s not Ed’s lot in life.

But maybe, with time, and more moments like these, Ed can let himself believe it. 

The accord is shattered by the slam of a door opening and the yell of a young woman.

_“Granny!_ I’m back!”

Pinako sighs, muttering, “when will she learn…” Yelling back, she says “if you break my door or chip the paint, it’s coming out of your pocket, Winry! And stop yelling, we have guests!”

“You’re yelling too!” Winry protests. She stops in her tracks when she sees Ed. “Oh. Who’s this?”

Ed waves sheepishly while Pinako introduces him. “This is Ed, your new project. Ed, this is Winry, my hellion of a granddaughter.”

Winry sticks her tongue out at Pinako before looking back at Ed, tilting her head.

“Turns out I’m not exactly human?” Ed says, shrugging. “Who knew accidentally killing people by kissing them wasn’t normal?” he tries to joke.

“We think he’s a succubus, or maybe an incubus, based on the evidence, but we’re not fully sure,” Hawkeye explains. “And Ed doesn’t know how to control his powers. We were hoping you could maybe help.”

“Hmm,” Winry taps her chin in thought. “Maybe… I’d have to run a few tests, possibly some scans. I don’t know about controlling his powers, that’s probably more your guys’ area of expertise, but I might be able to make a blocker? Hmm…” She tilts her head the other way. “Are you afraid of needles?” she asks Ed.

“Uh, no?” Ed lies.

Winry laughs darkly, and it sends shivers down Ed’s spine. “We’ll see about that.”

x 

“I have to say, you seem to be taking the reveal of fae pretty well,” Winry remarks as she bustles around her lab, running tests. Tests on Ed—his saliva, skin samples, hair samples, blood samples, you name it.

“I think I’m probably in shock,” Ed says. He’s been dizzy since before the booze and now that he thinks about it, he is kind of cold. In the middle of June. But it could just be the lab, if he’s being honest. He’s not wearing a shirt; he hasn’t put it back on yet.

Winry pulls out a small flashlight and shines it into Ed’s eyes, causing him to jerk his head back, blinking rapidly. “Hmm… Your eyes _are_ somewhat dilated. But your pulse seemed fine when I checked it earlier.” She rummages around in a few drawers, searching for something. “You’re probably fine medically speaking but I’d rather be safe than sorry… Aha!” She pulls out a vial of something clear and fills a syringe with it, flicking the end. 

Ed can’t help it—he cringes at the sight. He’s not _scared_ of them, necessarily, but that doesn’t mean he likes needles, either. He swears when Winry injects whatever it is into his arm, tensing automatically and then regretting it just as quickly. Winry makes a face at him, patting him on his shoulder and calling him a ‘poor baby’, before going back to her tests. 

“So… a fae doctor, huh?” Ed asks, trying awkwardly to make conversation.

“Mmm,” Winry hums. “It’s kind of a Rockbell thing. My parents were doctors, and Granny used to be one too. She only opened up the bar after she retired, about 15 years ago I think?”

Ed lets out a low whistle. He’s impressed—an entire family of doctors, _damn._ And he doesn’t want to be that person but… “‘Were’?” he says softly.

Winry tenses for a moment, pausing with whatever she’s doing, and then exhales heavily. “Yeah, ‘were’. They were killed in a fae skirmish when I was 10.”

Ed doesn’t really know what to say. “That sucks,” he offers, because he knows how meaningless and empty _I’m sorry_ can sound.

“Yeah, it does.”

“Why do you still work for them then, if fae killed your parents?”

She laughs, but it’s not in amusement. “Are you kidding me? After growing up my whole life knowing that fae exist, that some stories aren’t just stories and magical creatures are real, do you really think I’d be able to just move on from that? Live a normal boring human life and forget about the fae?”

  
  


That’s… a fair point, and Ed says as much.

“Besides,” Winry continues, “there’s plenty of doctors in the human world. But the fae need me and as much as I’d like to tell them to go screw themselves sometimes, I can’t ignore them when they need my help.”

Winry’s a good person, Ed thinks. Better than he is. Someone without a kill count, who knows who they are. But if that’s the standard Ed’s going by, then there’s a helluva lot of people who’d unlock that achievement without really deserving it. He stares blankly at the palm of his hand, thinking of all the blood he’s spilled. Blood spilled because he’s fae—because his parents deemed fit to abandon him for whatever reason, leaving him to the metaphorical wolves, lost and alone, without a clue as to who or _what_ he is. Left him, without thinking of the repercussions. His hand curls into a fist.

“Anyway,” Winry says brightly, as if ignoring the past few minutes, “preliminary tests are done! There’s still some more I want to run, but I don’t need you here for those. I don’t have any succubus data to compare it to, but since you didn’t match up enough with an incubus, I’m pretty sure you’re a succubus.”

“Only ‘pretty sure’?” Ed asks, joking. Mostly.

Winry shoots him a look. “95.5% sure, if you want to be exact. There were some unknown variables in your DNA that make me think you might actually be a hybrid, but your phenotype is a succubus at least.”

“Hopefully that 4.5% isn’t too important.”

“Eh,” she waves a hand, “doubtful. I’ll run it against some other samples I have, but I wouldn’t worry about it too much for now. It’s your feeding that has me a bit worried.”

“Things like that don’t happen too often,” Ed says, voice low with shame. “Only when shit gets… heated, or whatever, normally.”

“Hmm… Still, you shouldn’t have to hold back or miss out on stuff because you haven’t learned how to control your powers. I think practice would be the best way for you to get the hang of them; the only problem is finding a willing partner who can stop you from taking too much. Someone fae, obviously.”

He scoffs, because where the hell is he going to find one of those? Yeah, right.

Her tone softens with something Ed can’t identify. “Come back in a few days. I’ll have worked out a blocker or serum that can work as a stopgap for the time being.”

“Sure thing, Doc,” Ed says, sarcastically saluting her.He hops down from the table he’d been sitting on and shrugs his shirt back on. He pauses by the doorway on his way out. “Hey Winry?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

x 

Days turn into weeks and weeks into months and time blows by with relative ease, considering just how much Ed’s world has turned upside down. But rolling with the punches and cobbling together a new life for himself is kind of Ed’s thing.

As he thought, when he went back to the bar where this shitfest all began, his old boss had laughed right in his face when Ed had asked about his job and continued to laugh even as Ed walked out the door, fired. But when he complained about it to Pinako one day over drinks, she’d had him show her what he was like behind the bar and hired him. He’s renting the loft above the _Rockbells’_ too, which makes his work commute fucking fantastic.

When he’s not working, Ed’s usually buried up to his nose in books, reading up on fae history and culture, or hanging out with Winry in her lab, kicking Havoc’s ass at pool, or getting his ass kicked at poker by Hawkeye.

Things are… surprisingly routine. Stable, in a way Ed’s not really used to. He’s adjusting to the fae thing well enough, in his opinion, but he’d be lying if he wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop, the rug to get pulled out beneath him.

Then he meets his brother. Again, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [awkwardly flosses (the backpack kid dance, not dental hygiene.....)]  
> hope u enjoyed if u made it this far!! <3
> 
> .......also pls excuse any medical and/or bar drink inaccuracies. im not a doctor nor am I actually legal to drink here (yet) hdjsgkjsfgkjs. just had to do a bunch of brief googling at like, 5am whenever I needed some info. BUTTT toasted almonds are real drinks AND THEY TASTE GOOD, they're like, roughly 1:1:1 of amaretto/disaronno : kahlua : milk/cream. I usually prefer my amaretto straight, over some ice (which terrifies a few of my friends apparently........ idk why lol) but toasted almonds are a good alternative. except, u know, my lactose intolerance. not that ive let that stop me before tbh kjdfgkjfgjsk  
> ANYWAY I'LL SHUT UP NOW, HOPE TO SEE U NEXT CHAPTER!

**Author's Note:**

> FAE TYPES:  
> Ed - succubus  
> Roy - shifter, wolf  
> Envy - Mesmer/shifter hybrid  
> Wrath - pombero/siren hybrid  
> Lan Fan - ..... haven't actually worked that out yet lol
> 
> im terrible at responding to comments but validation fuels me <3  
> see ya at the next chap!


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